


1 - Wife Or Death

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Case Fic, Fake Marriage, For a case, M/M, Porn, Pretending, barely any plot, porn challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10793628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: It’s for a case, John!Or the time Sherlock and John pretended to be a heterosexual couple in order to solve a crime. Sherlock pretends to be a woman. John pretends he wants to take a strange man to bed. By the time the end of the night arrives, all pretences are over.Day One of the 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017 "Pretending"





	1 - Wife Or Death

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/pseuds/AtlinMerrick) in the [31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Pretending  
> Nursing or Lactating  
> Unusual sex toy(s)  
> Food  
> Pet Play  
> Misunderstanding  
> Uniform or Clothing Kink  
> Body Fluids  
> Hot or Cold  
> Spanking  
> Looking After  
> Breeding  
> Somnophilia  
> Daddy Kink / Incest / Age Play  
> Piercings or Jewelry  
> Masturbation  
> Costume or Disguise  
> Exhibitionism  
> Past or Future  
> Frottage  
> Epistolary / Sexting  
> Body Worship  
> Priest or Religion  
> Coitus Interruptus  
> Five Senses  
> Voyeurism  
> Lingerie, heels, dress  
> Worst and Best  
> Begging  
> Accidental Stimulation  
> Laughing

John stewed beside the bar of the club. He’d been nursing the same complicated drink for nearly thirty minutes. He glared at his wife but ended up receiving angry looks from the women around her. Embarrassed, he took a quick drink and ended up gagging a bit on the extra-sour whatever it was that coated the bottom of his glass. “New here?” A tall, dark, and ironically handsome man leant against the counter next to John. His eyes were warm, and to John’s surprise, very interested, “Hi, the name’s Steve.” He flashed an inviting smile, “I never go to these things.”

John and his spouse were on holiday. The hotel was posh and not somewhere John might have ordinarily booked a weekend away for two, but it hadn’t been his choice. A quick glance showed no ring on Steve’s hand so John made sure to flash his, “We’re just in until the beginning of next week. The old ball and chain wanted to get away for a minute.”

Steve laughed genially, “I don’t miss those days.” His grin hadn’t faded despite John confirming his wedded status, “I like being free and easy.” He winked and John blushed. _Steve was hitting on him!_

John’s face clearly must have shown his discomfort and surprise because Steve immediately put his hand on John’s forearm, “Sorry, didn’t mean to come off so pushy.” His hand didn’t move and John’s discomfort grew.

He felt her presence even before he heard her. A warmth against his back preceded a covetous hand on top of his. A warm throaty contralto voiced a single word, “John?”

“Hello love, done, yeah? This is Steve. I think he’s staying here this weekend too. Isn’t that nice?” John turned to smile up nervously at her. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. His discomfort was obvious to both people observing him and Steve’s eyes narrowed a bit before his face rearranged itself into an interested smile.

The heels John’s wife was wearing made her much taller than he was. Her perfume filled his nose, making him a bit dizzy. Before he knew what was going on, Steve was shaking her hand. “I’m Steve, and you are?”

“ _Mrs_ Watson,” she replied coldly, “Pleased to meet you.” It was clear that she was anything but happy, “Excuse us.” John allowed himself to be pulled away as she hissed, “Are you mad?”

“What? I didn’t do anything! He came up to me. I was just standing there!” John felt strange as if he’d done something wrong but he hadn’t.

She dragged him nearly out of the room before stopping. Leaning close, she whispered in his ear, “John, _our suspect_ was trying to chat you up.”

John went pale before he went crimson, “No!”

“Yes!” insisted Sherlock, pushing his long hair behind his ear. He looked natural in his two-piece dress suit, his large feet and hands reduced in appearance thanks to some very well designed shoes and jewellery. The skirt bit somehow enhanced his already generous behind and accentuated to give it that upside down heart shape that so many men, very much including John, found irresistible. His _wife_ was also made up extensively, and if John hadn’t watched him do it, he’d never believe that Sherlock Holmes was standing in front of him, “Now kiss me!”

“What?” cried John again. _This wasn’t in the gameplan! They were there at that idiotic and overly expensive hotel to catch a serial killer, not to deepen their fake relationship!_ “I don’t wa…”

He didn’t have a chance to finish. Sherlock’s lips were on his already, and he was being crushed to the wall. All he could smell was _Notorious_ which Sherlock had dotted heavily all over his body and covered up the rich complex natural smell that John greatly preferred. Expensive or not, the perfume was making John dizzier than ever. Nearly swooning, he would have fallen back if his _wife_ hadn’t wrapped her arm around him. When he looked up at Sherlock, he saw that his eyes were narrowed suspiciously and that he was looking at Steve. “I’m going back to the hen-party I’ve crashed. _Don’t_ let him take you up to his room when he asks for a shag. I somehow doubt that he’s been deterred by my demonstration of jealousy.”

“What?” exclaimed John. _He wasn’t about to let some possible serial killer get a leg over! He was a married man. Wait. No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t gay! Wait, that wasn’t right either. He wasn’t…_ “Why?”

Sherlock hugged John tightly. Without warning he gripped the back of John’s head with his long-nailed and painted fingers, tugging at his short hair. John struggled a bit to hide how good that felt and knew that everyone in the room could see Sherlock dominating him. The tall git leant forward and whispered huskily in his ear. “I think I’ve figured it out. Be careful, John, you’re just his type.”

John was stunned. _All the victims looked like Sherlock did right now! All of them were attractive well-put-together women of various ages and backgrounds, not short stumpy grey haired old soldiers_. He blinked and thought of the files they’d gone over briefly and put the clues together, “Wait, _I’m_ the bait? Then why did _you_ dress up?”

Sherlock glided away without answering, rejoining his party with a light laugh which several of the women returned, but not all. A few were looking at John, and some of them had pity in their eyes. John’s cheeks flamed up. _Why? Why did they feel sorry for him?_ Swallowing hard he went back to the bar and got himself a glass of something stronger.

“Everything alright?” Steve was right by his elbow and John nearly jumped. “The wife, I mean. I don’t mean to pry. It was just kind of…public.”

John laughed shakily, “Public. Like that’s ever mattered.” Sherlock didn’t care if he was in full view of the Queen. John briefly considered telling Steve _The Sheet_ story but dismissed it. _If Steve was the suspect, and John was his preferred type, then everything Sherlock had done had been deliberate._ John went with it, “She’s a bit…demanding.” That was no lie. Sherlock wanted John’s assistance and attention eight days a week twenty-five hours a day. John never had a minute to himself but he didn’t want them. _He’d had minutes alone and it had been empty and dreadful. If Sherlock wanted to utilise John every second of the day, then so be it. It made them both happy_.

“Sounds like you need a break,” Steve ordered two shots of whisky and led John to a table in full view of the party that had loudly resumed. Music began to play overhead and the women began to dance and laugh with each other. “Safer over here, don’t you think?”

“Which one’s yours?” John smiled over at the tall man.

 Steve’s eyes were hard for a second but he said, “Her name is Diane. Bossy little thing. I didn’t want to come tonight but she insisted. She’s the one in pink.” The indicated woman was in the centre of her own small circle. She was tiny where Sherlock was tall, but John could see the similarities right away. Both individuals practically screamed their dominant characters out, it was as plain as day that they were alpha personalities. Not even the bride commanded as much attention as they two did simply by being there. For crying out loud, Sherlock hadn’t even been invited. He’d just showed up and included himself, and no one objected, not even the woman who was supposed to be the centre of attention.

John blinked, never having considered Sherlock in such a way but it made sense. _If we were wolves, Sherlock would lead the pack and I’d be one who followed orders._ It didn’t bother John. He knew he was a weapon, and weapons were used when needed and set aside when not required. He was also a doctor and he loved his work so he was content. “So, what do you do, Steve?”

Glumly the man replied, “I used to be in sales but after Diane decided we should have kids I’ve become the stay-at-home parent. I love them, I really do, but Diane won’t hear of me going back to work even though the kids are nearly done school, not even part-time, and I miss it. I miss being my own man.”

Suddenly John understood. Sherlock was right. _Steve was the killer and because of John, he’d now targeted Sherlock as an outlet for his own frustration._ His inner soldier kicked in. _Sherlock was in danger._ John needed to protect him somehow but nothing could be done until Steve showed his hand. “I hear that, mate.” John toasted his words and Steve drank eagerly.

After another pair of shots, Steve stood up, “Want to get out of here? Looks like the ladies are occupied.” Both men looked toward the group of now raucously laughing women. They had penis shaped straws for their drinks and all of them were holding some kind of edible treat, also penis shaped. Of course, Sherlock was the one who tipped his head back and nearly swallowed the thing whole, causing the entire group to erupt in a rousing cheer of admiration.

John swallowed as well and tried to ignore the blood rushing south and away from his brain. _When had Sherlock learned to do that?!_ “More than ready.” Pushing his empty glass away, John straightened himself up. His mobile was in his coat pocket and he hoped that all of Sherlock’s texting lessons were going to pay off because he quickly sent Sherlock a message without looking. _Heading out now_.

They left the club casually, but not before John caught Sherlock’s eye. _Message received_. John knew that he would be followed as soon as possible and wished they’d contacted Lestrade before the evening had begun, a well-used regret that he reminded himself to try and do next time. Again. “Your room or mine?” Steve wasn’t being subtle at all but John didn’t want him to be. He wanted this arse behind bars as soon as possible, and if that mean his heterosexual virtue was going to be at risk, well, fair enough. It was better than dying which was the option Sherlock was going to be given, and John just couldn’t have that.

“Mine, she’s always out all hours, I could have just stayed home.” John knew his complaint would only solidify the idea that he was somehow being emasculated by his wife. He didn’t see it himself, but he knew there were plenty of blokes who couldn’t deal with a strong personality, and clearly, this man’s wife had driven him around the bend. It made John want to shake his head in disbelief, but then, some of the cases they’d solved had made him want to do the same thing as well. Why, one woman had murdered her brother-in-law because he’d bought a postage stamp that she had planned on collecting before she could, even though said stamp wasn’t even rare or hard to get. She’d simply wanted it first and that had been enough motive for her to kill the poor fellow. Now here John was, deliberately inviting a serial killer to his hotel room for casual sex in order to prevent another murder, specifically, Sherlock’s.

Steve wasted no time. The second they were inside the honeymoon suite, Sherlock’s idea, he was attempting to kiss him, “Slow down, woah.” John managed to push him away, “I’m not there yet, I still need a drink or two. I don’t normally do this kind of thing and I’m nervous as hell.”

“Don’t be nervous John, I just want to make you feel good because it makes me feel good. Aren’t you tired of her? Aren’t you sick to death of putting up with orders, and irrational behaviour, and being at her beck and call all the time? Don’t lie to me, I can see how she is with you, and I know what women like her are like. She’s greedy, demanding, pushy, and selfish. She’ll take and take and take until you’re hollowed out and then she’ll grind what’s left under the heel of her latest shoe. Let me stop that for you, let me make you feel…good.”

For a moment John wondered if Steve actually knew Sherlock but by the time he’d gotten to the end of his rant, John saw the differences in their lives, “She’s the best thing to have ever happened to me. She makes me feel alive, and when she’s not with me, I’m dead inside. We were apart once, for over two years. I was a shell of a man. She left for my sake, do you understand? You may not like your wife, but I love mine.”

“Then why are you here with me?” demanded Steve angrily.

“I’d like an answer to that myself.” John’s eyes shut as his wife’s voice filled the void of silence that Steve’s question had left behind, “John?”

“It’s not what you think!” John actually felt panicked, as if he’d actually been caught about to have sex with someone in front of his real spouse. “Steve was just…”

“Just _what_ , John? Going to pleasure you? Am I not enough for you, John? I ask so little and give so much. Is this worth it, John? Is what we have together so easily set aside, for this little man?” Sherlock sounded wounded and it was so real that John’s heart actually gave a guilty twang for the hurt that he could hear. It was also the final blow to Steve’s already fragile masculinity.

He was across the room before John had a chance to react, and he had Sherlock in a headlock in a blink, “Go John. No one will ever suspect us. Just go back to the party and wait for me. I’ll deal with her and you’ll be free. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want someone to just make her fucking stop, finally?”

John was horrified. Sherlock’s life was on the line. It had all happened so quickly, he didn’t have his gun or anything. Steve was large enough and strong enough to snap Sherlock’s neck, and it looked as if he were going to, “Don’t. Please don’t. I love her! She’s my whole world. If you take her from me I will end you. I will kill you with my bare fucking hands in front of everyone you know if you harm a single hair on her head, do you hear me Steve?” John’s hands were clenched and his heart was racing. Sherlock’s face was turning a terrible shade of red. Steve was choking him! “I said stop! Heel! Now!”

Sherlock stamped a long elegant heel right through Steve’s leather shoe and the man howled with pain. “I’m going to fucking put another hole in you, you useless fucking cunt.” Out of nowhere, Steve manifested a handgun and time slowed down for John. It felt like everything was covered in taffy and he was incapable of moving fast and yet there he was, breaking Steve’s hold on Sherlock while trying to point the gun away. There was a loud crack and everyone froze. “I didn’t mean to,” Steve whispered. “Not you, John. It was supposed to be your wife.”

“Wife or death?” John felt his knees weaken as he fell to the floor. Something stung terribly, his side was killing him.

“John!” Sherlock’s false contralto disappeared as did any trace of being a lady. He balled up one large fist and used it to escort Steve from consciousness. He let the man drop where he was and came to John immediately, “John, are you alright? Where does it hurt? There’s blood John, he shot you!” Sherlock actually sounded terrified, and was ripping a mobile out from his padded bra, shrieking into it, “Shut up Lestrade! We’re in the honeymoon suite, John has been shot. We need an ambulance instantly! NOW!” Throwing the mobile to the floor, John found himself being cradled in Sherlock’s arms, “John! Hang on, John. Please, don’t leave me.”

“Sherlock.” John’s voice was weak.

“John!”

“Sherlock!” John gasped and his hand flew to his side. “Oh god.”

“John, tell me. What can I do to help? How can I help you?” There were tears in Sherlock’s eyes and he looked like he was falling apart right in front of John.

John felt the heat of his own blood on his fingers, felt the torn flesh against his ribs and he groaned in pain, “Fuck it all to hell, I just bought this shirt.”

“John?” A tear fell from Sherlock’s eye, smudging his eyeliner, and made a path for other tears to follow. “John, tell me, I need to help you. This can’t be what happens now. No!”

“Sherlock.” John coughed hard. His throat was so dry all of a sudden, “Hey, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not alright John. You’re dying in my arms and I can’t stop it.”

“I’m not.”

“What?”

“I’m not dying.”

“What?”

“It’s just a flesh wound.” John had waited his whole life to be able to deliver that line and it failed completely.

“What?”

“I’m going to be okay, it’s just flesh wound.” It worked even worse the second time around.

John was astonished to find that he was being kissed breathlessly. Sherlock’s lips were plush, soft, and needy. When it finally ended, Sherlock’s voice was broken and filled with emotion, “I thought you were dying. I thought he’d killed you. I thought you had died right in front of me. It was the worst feeling in the world.”

John looked up at Sherlock. “I know.”

Sherlock stilled. John most certainly knew how Sherlock had felt since he’d felt the same way when Sherlock had faked his death. “John…” Sherlock sounded full of apology but John didn’t want to hear it.

“No.” Sherlock stopped immediately, “You don’t have to say you’re sorry, not for that. It was awful but you did it to save me, to save all of us, and I would have done the exact same thing and you know it.”

“Tonight wasn’t a carefully orchestrated plan,” replied Sherlock shakily, “I didn’t even realise he had a weapon. How did I miss that?”

“Jealousy,” teased John but Sherlock blanched. “Wait, that was real?”

“You’re suffering from blood loss.” Sherlock refused to meet his eyes, “You’re probably hallucinating from the pain.”

John was silent, “You actually care.” Sherlock swallowed hard, his makeup smudged beyond repair, the tears that had fallen leaving the evidence of the presence all over his cheeks. John could feel Sherlock begin to release him but he stopped him by raising his hand and cupping Sherlock’s chin, “Hey, look at me.”

Sherlock swallowed hard but looked down at John. “I do. I care, deeply.” He heaved a shuddering sigh, “I thought I’d lost you and now I am wondering how you ever forgave me for the appalling ruse you had to live with for two years. Did it feel like this the entire time?”

“Every minute.” John was honest. He hadn’t lied to Steve. Sherlock was everything, “Nothing was right until you came back to me.”

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was soft again, not hiding behind feminine tones, but reverent, hopeful.

“I love you Sherlock.” John found himself being kissed breathlessly once more. Time stilled and the universe consisted of Sherlock’s arms holding them tight, the drumming of their hearts, and Sherlock’s lips against his.

“Er…someone needed an ambulance?”

They both started as the paramedic at the door looked down at Steve. Soon there was a team checking everyone over before pronouncing their perp merely unconscious but unharmed, John bleeding but in no danger, and Sherlock merely in need of some privacy with John. Lestrade showed up just as John was getting his minor-wound looked at, “So?”

“Once again we’ve done all the hard work so go ahead and take all the glory like the greedy pricks you are.” Sherlock snarled, “John will have another scar, thanks to your inability to find this person yourselves. I hope you’re happy!”

Lestrade clearly didn’t know how to react as Sherlock shouted at him in full voice, his enhanced chest heaving dramatically as he did so. “Sherlock.” John spoke gently and Sherlock stopped completely, much to Lestrade’s obvious surprise, “Come here and settle down.”

Sherlock sat beside John but continued to glare at Lestrade as if he were the one who had shot John, “We’re staying here tonight. John needs to rest.”

Lestrade looked like he was going to argue but John matched Sherlock’s glare with one of his own, “I feel like shite, Greg, my best shirt is ruined, and I’m tired as fuck. It’s two in the bloody morning. I’ll see you at the Yard tomorrow after I’ve slept myself out. Now, kindly take that murdering scum away and leave us be!”

It took some time before everyone cleared out and then even more time before Sherlock and John were moved to another suite because theirs was now a crime scene. The second they were finally alone, Sherlock swarmed all over John, removing his shirt to examine his new bandages closely, “John.”

“Sherlock, not now.” Sherlock flinched and pulled back but John grabbed his long arm before he retreated completely, “Not go away completely, just don’t poke the fresh holes until my pain meds kick in.” He kissed Sherlock, keeping it soft and gentle yet questioning. John wasn’t going to ask for more that Sherlock was willing to give but at the same time, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by.

“What about your other holes, can I poke them?” Both of them began sniggering and giggling, not stopping until John had to clutch his new bandages and gasp with pain as well as laughter, “Arse.” He said fondly, “Come here, you, let’s see what we can do manage despite the handicap.”

Sherlock had him stripped bare and on their crisply made bed in no time, “You’re all sweaty and mucky.” Sherlock was kneeling over John and snuffling him all over, and it was more than a bit ticklish. “It’s gorgeous.”

John was a bit embarrassed because he really was less than fresh but it seemed to be turning Sherlock on quite a bit. He was still wearing his dress, and John hadn’t forgotten the looks everyone from the Yard had given them both, that is, until they learned that John and Sherlock had merely been undercover and then, as a group, they’d shrugged it off and gotten on with their jobs. Sherlock had done far stranger things in the name of a case than put on pretty clothing. “I should wash.”

“You really shouldn’t.” Sherlock was nearly licking him now, mouthing his way over John’s arms until he got to his pits and once there, Sherlock allowed himself to catalogue every piece of data he could manage with every sense that he could get in on the action. He was even more thorough when he immediately moved to John’s bared crotch, “You smell like heaven, John.”

He must be stale and rank! Sherlock certainly didn’t seem to mind though, if you could judge by the blissful sighs and eager rooting. John felt himself harden and wasn’t terribly surprised when Sherlock began sucking him off without asking permission. “Fuck, Sherlock.” His eyes closed for a moment, a bit dizzy from the intensity of his arousal.

“Don’t you dare come yet, John Watson. I’m going to fuck you like this. I’m going to keep this outfit on, pull my cock out from under my skirt, and fuck you until you come all over my blouse. Would you like that, John?”

John tried to respond but ended up grunting instead. Giving up words as a lost cause he spread his legs in invitation. Sherlock didn’t hesitate. It was obvious that he was completely inexperienced but not exactly unknowing. He knew exactly what to do and how to do it, and he wasn’t at all squeamish about doing so. John found himself on his belly, arse in the air, and a consulting detective’s tongue deep in his arse. He could feel that firm muscle pumping in and out of him and wondered how it had happened so fast since he was certain that it had been mere seconds since Sherlock had first gently touched him with the tips of his fingers.

Sherlock used one long finger at first, heavily wetted with saliva. Gradually he introduced a second large finger, twisting them around to help John’s muscles loosen and relax. John’s cock was fat and heavy on Sherlock’s tongue but the detective just held John in his mouth, sucking softly but only enough to keep John distracted while Sherlock prepared him. At long last, it was done. Sherlock dug through John’s wallet, smirking as he fished out a condom and a packet of lube. John hid his face in his hand and blushed, but didn’t say a word. Sherlock rolled the condom on, slicked himself up, and used the rest on John, generously coating him. Leaning close, Sherlock whispered, “Stop me if it hurts too much.”

It stung like a bastard. John’s arousal faded quickly as Sherlock worked himself inward. John did his best to bear down and to breath through it but his body was rebelling and it wasn’t so easy to keep allowing Sherlock to penetrate him. Finally, Sherlock held him down by his hip and his shoulder, rolling his hips cautiously, working himself in and out slowly until John was able to accept him fully. At first, it did nothing for John but Sherlock was determined. Shifting around and changing positions often, Sherlock finally managed to find exactly the right angle to gently stimulate John’s prostate and then, things changed.

Sherlock fucked him slowly and cautiously at first, growing more confident and sure with each inward stroke. John found that the pain had ebbed and that he was becoming accustomed to the feel of something pulling out and pushing back into his arse. Sherlock pulled out, made John get onto his back, his knees pulled high to his chest, and then pushed back into him. The attention his prostate was now getting was pretty nice, but it wasn’t until Sherlock reached down and made a fist around John’s cock that things got heated very fast. John found he was fucking himself with Sherlock’s fingers then thrusting himself onto Sherlock’s cock. He was rough with himself, grinding back, swirling his hips and allowing himself to be as wanton as he wanted. This was Sherlock, John could do anything at all, and Sherlock would love it.

He certainly did, “I’m going to come.” Sherlock’s voice sounded clear and collected but his frantic panting and small whimpers told a different story. His skirt was rucked up around his waist but his blouse still looked relatively pristine, except where patches of sweat were beginning to come through. Sherlock’s face glistened, and his makeup had definitely seen better days. It was beautiful. John found himself receiving a punishing series of thrusts that made him nearly howl with sensation overload. Sherlock hadn’t released his cock either, so John discovered that when Sherlock began to come, he was pulled right along into the orgasm of his life.

He’d never come with something or rather, someone, in his arse before. He hadn’t been aware how much clenching happened in that region and it just so happened that Sherlock had pulled out just enough so that when John’s hips bucked, the head of Sherlock’s cock pressed firmly against his prostate and just stayed there. It made his orgasm long and almost painfully good as he pulsed out his essence onto the expensive clothing above him.

“So good John, that’s so good, that’s exactly what I wanted. Perfect.” Sherlock thrusts had slowed but not stopped completely. He was looking down at himself, at the strands of come that John had shot onto his outfit, “Filthy man.” John’s felt his entire body go limp. He’d never been so satisfied and he didn’t even flinch when Sherlock pulled himself slowly out, carefully removing the condom, tying it off and carefully dropping it into the bin, “Urg, we’re going to need another blanket. Remind me to leave a large tip for the cleaning staff.”

John wasn’t in the mood for real life problems so he just lay there while Sherlock fussed over him, fetching a hot damp flannel from the loo and gently cleaning John’s arse and inner thighs with one, and his cock and testicles with another. “We’ll shower in a bit, right now I’m just going to lay here and try not to slip into a contentment coma.”

“Whatever you need, my dearest.” It didn’t feel odd at all to be called that, not by Sherlock Holmes. John might never have planned to be bedded by his best friend but now that it had happened, he wasn’t upset or fussed in the slightest. Everyone in the world assumed they were shagging, and now that he knew how bloody good it was, he was more than willing to allow rumour to become fact, “You can fuck me in the morning.”

“Alright love,” John closed his eyes as Sherlock covered him with a clean sheet and another blanket he’d fetched from the closet, “I’m just going to rest my eyes for a minute.”

“Me too.” Not another word was said as they both fell asleep, their bodies side by side, fingers entwined. Words were for another time but tonight was for beginnings, and the first step had already been taken.

 


End file.
